


Alone, Together on Halloween

by PTwritesmore



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Halloween, Halloween Challenge, Halloween Costumes, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Shrieking Shack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:41:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27408238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PTwritesmore/pseuds/PTwritesmore
Summary: A mysterious invite lands Hermione Granger and her fellow eighth years at a Halloween party. Among the darkness, she finds an unexpected conversation. A dramione one shot written for Halloween.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Luna Lovegood/Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson/Blaise Zabini
Comments: 16
Kudos: 107





	Alone, Together on Halloween

**Author's Note:**

> I own none of these characters, just writing for fun. :)

After reading the same page for 30 minutes, Hermione Granger sighed and dropped the Advanced Charms book into her lap with a thud. She’d spent the entire day in a distracted fog, reliving the Halloweeens past. As she gazed into the flickering fire in front of her, she thought of her first Hogwarts Halloween, the night Harry and Ron saved her from a troll, the moment she made her first real friends. Hermione sighed wistfully. It hadn’t been easy returning to Hogwarts for her seventh year, or eighth year, as her peers were calling it, but the absence of her two best friends made it all the harder. The space had originally been welcome after her inability to reinstate her parents’ memories and her failed dating attempt with Ron, but now she just felt lonely. Perpetually lonely. The red and gold common room, once cozy, was now a bastion of unwelcome nostalgia, reminding her of all she’d lost. 

“Uh, Hermione,” Neville’s voice behind her pulled her back to earth. “Did you get anything by owl today?” She turned to face him, finding the sandy haired boy twirling the scrap of parchment in his hands. 

“Yes,” she said, arching an eyebrow in surprise. Neville was low on her list of likely suspects. “I received a rather odd invitation to celebrate Halloween tonight. Here to tell me what it is all about?” she asked, holding up a matching parchment.

“You think I did this?” Neville asked in surprise. Small and blank, the invitation looked like scrap paper until it was touched by the person it was meant for. When Hermione received it in the morning post, she originally thought it was a mistake made by an aging Hogwarts owl. However, when she picked it up from the Great Hall table to discard it, the silver letters crawled across the page, spelling out her name. Her name then morphed into a dark storm cloud, the piece of paper pulsing with electricity. A small lighting bolt shot out before the cloud disappeared into another silver message: “Double double, toil and trouble, let’s escape the Hogwarts bubble. Sneak out to the shack at 10, but disguise yourself if you can. We will party through the night, prepare yourself for a delight.” After a moment, the words transformed into a moving image of a headless horseman riding with hoofbeats echoing off the page before the paper went blank again. 

She originally had been delighted by the beauty and cleverness of the magic, but that slowly melted into irritation at the blatant disregard for the rules. Hermione then found herself frustrated at her irritation, shocked that her deference to school rules was still a second nature response. She was no longer a prefect, and had turned down the opportunity to be Head Girl specifically so she didn’t worry about minding others this year. Hermione had had enough of that while on the run. Staring at the blank parchment, she decided at that moment that she’d go to the party, even just to figure out who had created the invitation. 

“Well you brought together students last year in the face of the Carrows. Plus, you’re kind of Hogwarts’ big name student this year,” Hermione teased, sharing her first genuine smile in days. “Why wouldn’t you throw a Halloween party for the eighth years?”

“Well, now I wish I had thought about throwing a party. But it wasn’t me,” the tall boy protested, running his hand through his hair. Hermione watched her friend, seeing both the awkward little boy and the handsome man he’d suddenly turned into. She considered the transformation she missed, and the scars he’d collected in her absence last year.

“Think it's a trap?” Hermione tried with a joking tone, but a hint of anxiety bled through anyway. Neville gave her a sympathetic look. 

“Might be,” he smiled. “But that's why you and I were invited - we’re the brave ones,” he said with a reassuring wink. “Hannah and Terry got invites too, so it isn’t just Gryffindors.”

“Looks like all the eighth years got them, plus a handful of seventh years,” Ginny said, walking down the stairs from the girls’ side. The redhead held up her invitation with a chuckle. “Luna asked me if she should go as a nargal this morning. Wonder who sent them?”

“I suspect it must be someone muggleborn, given the muggle references in the invitation,” Hermione offered up. “Although given the number of people hiding in the Room of Requirement last year, who knows what information was shared. I know Seamus enjoyed sharing the muggle stories his father told him as a kid.”

“What are you going to wear?” Ginny asked Hermione as the three of them walked towards the portrait hole for the Halloween feast. 

“Are you both planning on going? Even with the mysterious invite and all?” Neville asked the girls, who nodded in return. Ginny’s nod was enthusiastic, while Hermione’s was a movement so small, one would miss it if not paying attention, “Suppose I will have to come up with something for tonight too.”

“I think costumes will likely be low effort given the short notice,” Hermione offered. “But I’ll still need your help with my hair, Gin.”

“For you, I’d tame any beast,” the girl wore a smile that could match the Cheshire Cat. Hermione recognized the mischievous glint in her friend’s brown eyes and started privately planning her own costume to avoid getting pressured into something Ginny picked for her. 

The feast passed quicker and with less hubbub than any year previous. Although few students returned after the Battle, the joyful volume within the Great Hall would never indicate anyone was missing. Hermione sat quietly, listening to her friends trade costume ideas and thinking of those who did not return. After looking down her own table, her eyes swept over the Slytherin table, as they reluctantly did at each meal. It was especially sparse this year, with few returning students and nearly no First Years sorted in. The absence of the four eighth year students amplified that, and heightened Hermione’s suspicions about who organized the evening’s secret party.

Following the meal, the eighth year girls piled into Ginny’s dorm room in Gryffindor Tower to get ready together. Just six months ago, she was living in a tent with two boys, starving and scared. Now she was surrounded by women spouting off beautifying charms, laughter dancing in the air around them. She tried to meet their mirth as Ginny poured an entire bottle of Sleekeazy’s into her wild curls, but felt that familiar emptiness pushing her efforts down and replacing any attempt at feelings with gaping nothingness. 

“I still don’t get your costume,” Ginny said, touching Hermione’s leather jacket. Hermione slipped the borrowed Quidditch goggles around her neck, carefully minding her hair, and hoped that they looked enough like pilot’s goggles. 

“It’s ok that you don’t. I wanted - needed to be something muggle this year,” Hermione inspected herself in the mirror, smoothing her khaki pants. “All you need to know is that I am a badass woman.”

“Well you didn’t need a costume for that,” her friend exclaimed, looping her arm through Hermione’s and dragging her to meet the rest of their friends in the common room. The group of older Griffydors disillusioned themselves before leaving through the portrait hole and snuck out towards the Whomping Willow, led by Hermione. She stood watch as they silently slipped through the secret passage to the Shrieking Shack. Trailing behind the group, she wondered what Harry and Ron were doing tonight on duty. Reading Harry’s letters about training reaffirmed her choice to pass on Kingsley’s auror offer, but she still struggled with the feeling that she was being left behind. The end of the tunnel quickly approached, the last of her housemates slipping into the door. As she opened the door, music welcomed her immediately, the hum of friendly conversation a friendly undercurrent.

Hermione paused at the entrance, looking around a room full of friends and fighting the urge to turn back. She grabbed one of the shrunken butterbeers from her pocket and headed towards the corner where Neville was holding court. After a few hours and a few more butterbeers, she was still rooted to her spot in the corner. Half-listening to a cat ear-clad Padma explain the healing training she was planning to focus on at St. Mungo’s, Hermione took in the room swirling around her. 

Neville, dressed as a dashing pirate, was spinning a fairy-version of Hannah Abbott around the middle of the makeshift dance floor, while Ginny and Pavarti twirled each other to the beat in matching mermaid costumes, midriffs bare despite the cold. Across the room, she spotted Theo Nott was smiling shyly from within a banana costume at Luna as she spoke softly. Hermione couldn’t even identify what Luna was dressed as and she knew better than to ask. Dean, Seamus, and Terry Boot were playing a drinking game in front of an audience of their peers. Dressed as matching vampires, Pansy and Blaise were talking to each other by the punch bowl. 

Hermione walked over to the pair, deciding to pour herself a drink to look more in place there. 

“This was a good idea, Blaise,” Hermione offered a small grin at him, after she scooped the mysterious brown liquid into her cup. The tall boy turned towards her, giving her a charming smile.

“What makes you think it was me?” he asked in a faux-innocent voice. “I’m much too responsible to condone such rule breaking.”

“I am pretty familiar with most of the people here. It had to be an eighth year Slytherin,” Hermione explained, returning his grin. “Clearly out of the four options, you were the most likely.”

“It could’ve been me,” Pansy sighed from next to Blaise, looking at her nails instead of the witch. “I do love a party.”

“I doubt you would’ve invited the entire eighth year class,” Hermione shot her a harsh look. Pansy sneered in response, the fake vampire fangs poking through and making the pug-faced girl look even scarier than normal. 

“They did help me. Pansy with the decorations, Theo with the beverages, and Draco with the invitation,” Blaise said in honeyed tones, working to defuse any tension between the two women. “As the only eighth year prefect, the Headmistress talked to me about promoting house unity last month. Thought this was a good option.”

“Yes, well, I think it’s working,” Hermione gave a small nod towards Luna and Theo, now dancing together. She caught Pansy and Blaise give each other a smug look before Pansy raised both black eyebrows suggestively. Feeling like she was interrupting a moment, Hermione pushed forward with the real reason she had shown up tonight. “I didn’t realize he was skilled with charms. Malfoy I mean. It was clever magic,” Hermioine hugged her waist with one hand and twirled the cup of mysterious brown liquid with the other. She felt so out of place, interrupting this couple’s secret looks, standing in the corner lurking around a party she wasn’t really part of. Hermione felt like she was 11 again and alone. 

“Yes, I suppose so,” Blaise muttered, tearing his gaze from Pansy and looking around the crowded room. “I’d tell you to compliment him yourself, but I have no idea where he disappeared to. Practically had to drag him down here at wand point.”

“He is probably drinking alone in the woods,” Pansy waved her hands towards the fores as if to dismiss the notion of the boy. “Sulking is a skillset.”

“Well, thank you both for a lovely party. I’ll be sure to thank Nott and Malfoy as well when I see them in class on Monday,” Hermione gave them each a nod as she started backing away, untouched cup still in hand. 

“Leaving already?” Pansy asked airily, her eyes on Blaise. 

“You know me, Miss Rules and all that,” Hermione forced a smile. In reality, she didn’t want to be alone in a room full of people anymore. Instead, she was opting for a night of being alone, alone. Hermione left the room and apperated just outside of the shack. She peered around the dark house before deciding to just walk back to the castle. A bit of fresh air would be good for her. 

“Lumos,” she whispered as she walked around the shack, letting the wandlight guide her path. Around the corner was the pale boy, sitting on a small bench just behind the Shrieking Shack. As Pansy predicted, Draco Malfoy was drinking alone in the woods. His platinum hair shone in the moonlight, his gaze focused on the dark abyss surrounding the shack. As she took him in, she remembered the last day they had spoken. It was the day of both his and his mother’s trial. Narcissa Malfoy had broken her poised facade when she saw Harry and Herimoine approaching, tears staining her cheeks as she thanked them both profusely for testifying at their trials. With a gentle prod from his mother, Draco had choked out a quiet “thank you” to both her and Harry with a jerk of a nod. His eyes never left his shoes. The boy in front of her was stronger, but still a shadow of his younger, more arrogant self. 

“What are you meant to be? A sad boy?” she asked in a forced jovial tone, apparently startling the boy. He stared at her a moment, his gray eyes like a rolling fog, obscuring her vision from anything else. 

“Don’t need to dress up for that,” Draco retorted with a grimace. “No, I’m an obscurial,” he gestured to his all black clothing as though it was obvious. 

“Depressing,” Hermione said, sitting on the bench next to him, careful to leave enough room on the small bench so as to not touch him. 

“Well, if the wand fits,” he said, tipping his glass of firewhiskey nearly 90 degrees and draining the remaining quarter of his cup. 

“But I was technically right,” Hermione persisted, her golden eyes challenging him. “Obscurials are very sad and you are a boy,” she said in a self-satisfied voice, weaving her hands together and propping her chin up. 

“Whatever you need to tell yourself, Granger” he shrugged, looking at his slowly refilling cup. Hermione noted the lack of bite in his voice, something she’d grown used to over the years. They sat in silence for a moment, as Hermione took a sip of her drink before making a choking noise. 

“I see you sampled Theo’s brew. I’d dump it,” Draco advised in a bemused voice. “He is brilliant, but his potions are either a hit or a miss. Alcoholic mixes are apparently a hard miss on taste, even though they’ll get you pissed.”

“What even is it?” Hermioine squeaked out between coughs. 

“I believe a mix of most of the alcohol he smuggled from home,” Draco let out a short bark of a laugh. “Turnip wine, green ale, and firewhiskey at least,” he grabbed the glass from her and dumped the contents onto the ground next to him. “Here,” he pulled out his wand, causing Hermione to hold her breath. She released it as her drink refilled with firewhiskey. “I enchanted my bottle to refill my glass when we got here. Now yours will refill too, without having to go back up,” he handed the glass back to her. Hermione was so surprised, she didn’t know what to say at this small act of kindness at first.

“Thank you,” Hermione said slowly, twisting the glass in her hand. The pair looked straight ahead into the darkness, allowing the quiet to fill up the space between them. “Macbeth?” Hermione finally asked, her curiosity about the invitation overcoming her. She shifted to look at him, watching a lopsided grin break out over his face. So unlike the smirks and sneers she was used to from him, Hermione promptly decided she preferred this expression. 

“My favorite of Shakespeare’s work. So far,” Draco amended. “I’m still in the process of working through them.” 

“Why is it your favorite?” she asked after a moment of consideration, shocked that he was reading works from a muggle author. 

“Well certainly not for how he depicted witches,” Draco gave a humorless snort. “But I suppose I understand Macbeth’s struggle with ambition and choice. And Lady Macbeth’s guilt,” his voice faded with each word, his mouth twisted into a frown. “What, will these hands ne'er be clean?” he whispered as he touched his forearm. Hermione knew what lurked beneath the black sleeve and bit back the urge to lay her hand on his shoulder to comfort him. Instead, she changed the topic. 

“And what is this sudden interest in muggle literature?”

“This summer I served my sentence with a temporary magic ban and required muggle classes. The bit on literature was my favorite, so I started reading outside of the class to pass the time,” Draco explained casually. 

“And the The Legend of Sleepy Hollow was on this syllabus?” Hermione asked, the image of the headless rider from the invitation riding circles in her brain. 

“Perfect for Halloween,” he smiled. “I went into Muggle London to pick up some books until the Christmas holiday. The owner recommended it for Halloween when I explained I wouldn’t be able to buy new books until December.”

“That sounds like my type of shopping trip,” Hermione mused, thinking to the stacks of books her mother would allow her to bring home as a kid. A pang of longing rose in her heart, wondering what her parents had done tonight. Had they dressed up for a Halloween party? Or watched a horror movie at her father’s insistence, pausing to pass out candy when children knocked on the door?

“No Weasel to accompany you this evening? I thought that surely he and Saint Potter would pop up for a night of dancing with their birds,” Draco inquired, as if sensing her loneliness. 

“Ah, no. Harry couldn’t make it tonight and Ron and I aren’t - well he wasn’t invited,” Hermione stammered, surprised she’d needed to explain. Their breakup had graced the cover of the Prophet just before school started, courtesy of Rita Skeeter. 

“I see,” Draco’s eyes softened. “Well, he’s always been a fool. Of course, I’ve known that since I met him, but it makes sense you’d come around to see the facts eventually. Brains of the operation and all that,” Draco smirked, trying for a pompous tone. A glimmer of the boy she knew for so many years broke to the surface for just a moment before retreating and leaving the sullen boy in his place. 

“He’s still my friend,” Hermione asserted sharply. She felt obligated to defend her best friend to their schoolyard bully, however more of a mouse than a monster he may now be. 

“Pity for you,” he muttered into his glass before taking another swig. She failed to stifle a giggle, enjoying how this exchange felt more normal than anything had this year. 

“You look nice,” he offered up a few second laters, shattering her illusion of normalcy. “Laughter suits you, Granger. Especially in this bloody joke of a costume, whatever it is,” he gestured at her outfit, his eyes falling on the quidditch goggles resting on her clavicle. “Poorly dressed quidditch player?” he guessed with furrowed brows, still staring at her neck. 

“Wow, the longest conversation we’ve ever had and you’ve paid me the first compliment ever? Are you sure your bottle of firewhiskey isn’t spiked with something?” she joked, ignoring his attempted jab. He rolled his eyes dramatically in response. 

“I certainly blame the alcohol for my lapse in judgement,” he clicked their glasses before taking another sip. She mirrored him, smiling into her firewhiskey as she felt the unfamiliar burn in her throat. 

“I’m Amelia Earhart. Or a poor imitation, given the short notice of my invitation. Didn’t you cover her in your classes?” Draco shook his head, shrugging in response. Hermione sighed, wondering how to explain her costume to him. “I wanted to dress as someone brave. I feel like my courage left Hogwarts and hasn’t come back yet,” Hermione confessed, chewing her lip. It felt strange to be so honest with this boy she’d been classmates with for so long, but hardly knew. 

“Well, that is at least one area where we can’t blame the alcohol,” Draco retorted, bumping his shoulder to her’s good-naturedly. “After that - that day at the Manor,” Draco paused, his face and tone suddenly solemn, “I don’t think you could ever be without courage. That you fought the curse and lied through it to Aunt...well that was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen. I just wish I had been brave enough to stop it.” The two started at each other, both stunned by the words tumbling out of his mouth. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he whispered, voice wavering.

Hermione could barely keep up with the thoughts abuzz in her head. An apology from Draco Malfoy had never been on the horizon. There was so much she wanted to say to him, about that day, about his family, about the war and his role. She wanted to tell him that she forgave him, that she was sorry that she had hated him instead of realizing he was also just a kid in an impossible situation. 

“Dance with me, sad boy,” Hermione said instead, abruptly standing up and turning to face him. 

“What?” he exclaimed. “Here? Now? We can’t even hear the music with the silencing charms that Pans-”

“Oh come on. No one can see us out here. Dance with me out here so we don’t have to think about any of that,” Hermione interrupted, offering out her hand. Draco examined her for a moment, clearly turning her demand over in his mind while he let her hand hang out there.

“Only if you never call me sad boy again,” Draco quirked a pale eyebrow in defiance. 

“Only if you stop being so sad,” she retorted, offering her hand again to him. He tentatively grabbed it, rising to meet her. 

He snaked his other hand around her waist and pulled her close. When she didn’t move, staring at him in amusement instead, he huffed and grabbed the drink out of her other arm to put it on the bench with his. He gingerly placed her hand on his shoulder and grabbed her close again, leading her into a slow and smooth waltz. While not the dancing she had had in mind, she kept silent and enjoyed the graceful rise and fall Draco led them in. 

“No sad boy then,” Hermione conceded as they swept around the bench. “How about a Shakespeare character? Lady Macbeth, I believe -”

“Well that is worse,” Draco cut her off, curling his lip at being called a lady, Hermione assumed. 

“Fine, no nicknames. But I think you may want to look towards other works of Shakespeare when considering this damn spot,” she whispered, tearing her hand from his and placing it on the mark further up his forearm. “Perhaps no more Macbeth,” she suggested, turning her eyes up into the grey storm clouds staring back at her in confusion. “Do as the heavens have done and forget your evil; with them forgive yourself,” she quoted from a play she’d committed to memory. She watched his pale brows knit in thought as she let the words wash over him. Forgiveness was clearly not something he was expecting from her. She broke the silence in a much more casual tone. “Haven’t gotten to The Winter’s Tale yet? Pity, I think you’ll like that one,”she sniffed as she tore her eyes away to glance into the black forest. “I’m biased towards it though,” she mused, eager for him to figure out why. 

“I’ll have to read it then,” he agreed in a hoarse whisper, shellshocked. 

“I think there is hope for you yet, Draco Malfoy,” Hermione whispered into the darkness, letting her head lean into his chest as they continued to dance in the vast silence of the woods around the Shrieking Shack. They stayed that way for hours, alone, together, on Halloween night.


End file.
